Let’s wind the clocks back to 2003.
It was best of times, it was the worst of times, those sweet bygone days before youtube when the notion of user generated content was just leaves rustling in wind.
A time when Network television dominated every lcd screen in every living room in America, when attention spans were metered out by the lengths of commercial breaks.
It was in that time that a cohort of producers and writers hailing from the dingy dungeons of Spike TV concocted a premise for a game show centered around clearing physical challenges.
In it, contestants navigated obstacle courses and battled it out for supremacy in increasingly wacky parameters. An amusing harbinger of things to come in the proceeding Youtube revolution.
MXC: MOST EXTREME ELIMINATION is the show in question. An aptly named, wild, jamboree obstacle gameshow not unlike AMERICAN NINJA WARRIOR, or WIPEOUT.
These were big, noisy shows with flashy costumes and zany, polyester-padded obstacle courses. But where as those programs cultivated popularity through conventional structure, production value, and formula, MXC deferred to something more unique: unconventional presentation.
Takeshi’s Castle
You see, the entire span of MXC’s five-season run needed no formal production period. No stunt coordinators, or live studio audience. It’s all unnecessary, really, when you consider that this new Spike T.V show was already filmed over thirty-years ago. In Japan, no less.
Series creators Paul Abeyta, Peter Kaikko, and Larry Strawther found inspiration in the repurposing of footage from an old, mega-popular Japanese game show called Takeshi’s Castle, a show premised on the siege of a shogun’s palace. A fortified castle owned by the one and only Takeshi Kitano, our host.
The real-heads out west are thoroughly familiar with Kitano and his film output circa the 80s-90’s. Those living in Japan know him as something of an artistic polyglot—a man defined by his eclectic output.
He’s a filmmaker, playwright, novelist, actor, producer, director, video-game designer. And, for the purposes of this piece, a vicious lord who reigns over his subject-hood like a sun-king.
He’s joined by his second in command, Sonomanma Higashi, a young, string-bean, balding, smart-ass who’s always the first to throw quips at Kitano—they’re the first thing we see each episode.
Their comedic preamble resembles something you would expect in a late-night talk show. Sometimes, our hosts dish out jokes at the expense of the contestants, other times they explore funny interpersonal quarrels, leaning in on their cartoon personas. This is followed by rapturous laughter from Kitano’s surrounding subjects, hovering in the background.
Within the shallow parameters of “Takehi’s Castle’s” shallow siege story, contestants are “forced” to endure an increasingly zany set of obstacle courses by the larger than life, General Lee, the man on the field who introduces the episodic spade of contestants.
He dresses like a general, standing firm with his officer’s sword, sharp light emanating from a smile that could cut a face in half.
Lee’s presence is juxtaposed by that of his assistant, Junji Inagawa, a minuscule, nervy reporter who’s tasked with drumming up comedic field banter from contestants fresh off an obstacle course.
Funny enough, Inagawa wears a safari outfit, contrary to the period garb of the other cast members.
The long list of obstacle courses run the gamut of physical activity. Some standouts include “Knock Knock,” where contestants are presented with a series of walls, each containing a number of doors.
With some doors boarded shut and others made of paper, the players only option is to ram their bodies against the barriers in hopes of hitting the paper door, thus reaching the proceeding walls.
Another is “Skipping Stones,” a simple-on-its-surface game where players must hopscotch past a series of stepping stones on a body of water, the winner determined by who can maneuver from one end of the pool to the other without falling. This is complicated by the addition of unsecured stones that collapse under one’s weight when stepped on.
“Bridge Ball” has contestants scurrying across a narrow, rickety bridge all the while dodging a bombardment of volleyballs shot out of cannons.
The fan favorite, and certainly mine was always, “High rollers,” another skipping game in where contestants jump over large, spinning drums without falling off.
As the years rolled on, the show evolved to include a greater selection of obstacle courses, some good, others derivative. Still, this original Japanese incarnation was popular enough that it ran for a solid four years in Tokyo.
It’s been since ripped off, revived, restored, and every other “r” word. But it wasn’t until spike T.V got their hands on the project that the concept of Takeshi’s Castle really began to flower.
Don’t Get Eliminated!
“Voice replacement show,” was the thing echoing in the back of Paul Abeyta’s mind as he poured through an archive full of VHS tapes. Mentally, he hovered aimlessly in an ethereal creative limbo. A place most creatives find themselves when in between major projects; Abeyta’s last project was the niche, Jerry Springer parody, “Night Stand with Dick Dietrick.”
One day, a colleague working in international syndication invited Abeyta to check out his studio's collection of international programing. It was there where the producer found a Japanese game show called, wait for it, Takeshi’s castle.
He was taken by the plastic, grassroots quality of the sets and outrages stunts. There were continuing characters that grew wilder as the shows progressed, along with satisfying camaraderie that pierced through all the slap-stick pantomiming.
Better yet: Abeyta had no idea what anyone was saying. The perfect starting point if you’re trying to reinvent the wheel. And so, a new writer’s room was assembled.
Instead of appealing to some Japanese gameshow sensibility, this new team would take a huge bucket of western sludge and dump it on Takeshi’s Castle. All the dialogue was completely reworked from episode to episode. All character interaction, rejiggered, repurposed.
Then, a pilot was produced. You know what’s funny? watching a Japanese contestant eat shit three seconds into a game of high-rollers. Funnier, still? Imagine his name was Murray Shwartz.
And the Asian woman who took a plunge into a murky lake, due to the volleyball she took the face? What if she were introduced as Susie Corn-holler?
The history of the gag-dub runs deep and permeates a number of different genres. Though the concept is tied particularly close to Japanese anime, its utilization could be traced back in the states.
Woody Allen’s 1966 film WHAT’S UP, TIGER LILY? is a Japanese spy film reworked to include comedic American voice work. Did you grow up with Cartoon Network? Does Space Ghost Coast to Coast ring any bells?
And so, with the vision set, our merry band of obstacle course commentators were remolded for maximum comedic effect.
Ornery host, Takeshi Kitano is now Vic Romano, a straight-laced play-by-play commentator harboring a seedy past marred by rampant addiction to “everything,” along with a trail of ex-wives.
His righthand man, Sonomanma Higashi became color commentator, Kenny Blankenship, an unprofessional, Beavis & Butt-head caricature who’s position on the show can be attributed solely to nepotism.
The obstacle courses were rebranded to various degrees, making room for innuendo. Knock-Knock became Wall Bangers. The skipping stones obstacle course is now Sinkers and Floaters. Bridge Ball shifted into Brass Balls, and my precious High-roller became Log Drop. The contestant roster weathered similar changes.
In the way Night Stand lampoons the often nebulous nature of late night tabloid interviews (one episode features the host tackling mercy killings before transitioning into Euro trash) Takeshi’s castle bundled all the contestants into teams that represented various professions, colors and creeds.
Teams were rewritten to pit various subjects against one another, including Democrats vs. Republicans; Circus vs. Airlines; Entrepreneurs vs. Hotel Staff; Chick Magnets vs. Famous Felons.
It was like being a little boy and pitting toy soldiers against each other. You can just imagine the hilarity of watching the Japanese contestants dubbed over with english voices. Each inhabited by far-flung personalities, be it famous felons, christian rights activists, or representatives of the snack food industry.
If an episode featured music stars, then stoner music star Weedy Nelson lead his pack through Sinkers and Floaters, followed the likes of controversial rapper, Slim Shabby, who’s reeling from a recent divorce.
The dialogue is just elite. I dare say some of the best in variety television. It’s fast, smart. It relies heavily on innuendo, and sharp word play. Not exactly the house style over at Spike T.V.
The best bits could whizz by if you’re not attentive, a rarity during the age of syndication when programs would get chopped in favor of advertisements.
It was a heady time to be a television obsessed teenager, to experience all the raunchy, progressive television coming out of Spike T.V. Here was a show that spoke to someone who’s adolescent brain sped like a dynamo, for better or worse.
To have found a show where the action came fast and thundered on, all accompanied by Vic Romano’s rapid-fire commentary, was something to marvel. The classic example of “I don’t know what this is, but I like it,” mentality that’s so important for the young mind.
A television program like this just screams “niche.” It’s individual elements are esoteric; the assembled product, shaggy. And yet, by all available metric, MXC grew to become a massive property for Spike t.v.
I can still recall the array of MXC dvd box sets that lined the blockbuster racks. Sharp “MXC” caught in yellow and black, emblazoned on the front print. It screamed 2005 in all of it’s tacky, primary-colored glory.
Though it was certainly a great show to rent, I suspect that most my age got their hands on the five season collection through shadier means. After all, it was that time circa 2005-2010 when anything and everything was available for torrenting.
A go-to tactic that grew popular as the show’s time slot slowly receded into the early morning hours where programs are sent to die. Even then, I’m convinced that MXC was a money maker for the network.
In a media environment filled to the brim with mediocre content, MXC might come across as something refreshing in the way a relic from another time comes off as quaint.
Rewatching it in its entirety, I found it simple and unfussy despite all of the eccentricities and red tape.
I hope you enjoy the ride, and remember: Don’t Get Eliminated!